Dulcet
by smilebot
Summary: JohnxBonnie, winter-themed: "Merry Christmas."


"C'mon, John!"

John frowned as he took another drag of his cigarette, his fingers itching to bury themselves in his pockets in order to ward off the chill. "I'm mighty fine here, Ms. MacFarlane—you go ahead and enjoy yourself."

"Oh, don't be such a high-nosed city girl," Bonnie amusedly chided, fixated on the vast expanse of white. "It's snowing!"

"I can see that, Miss; I can see that."

Joyously, the other hitched up her pants and ran into the snow sans reservation, soon waddling when the mass reached up to her thighs, her grin bright. She waded here and there, finally stopping at the place under the nearest tree to gather a bunch of the cold in her hands—there was a brief moment of thought before she packed it into a neat ball and settled it on the ground, steadying it as she began to roll the tiny object, the accumulation apparent in a mere matter of minutes. Bracing herself while she bent over, Bonnie continued to collect build-up as she slowly began to feel it gain momentum, allowing her to work faster and whistle a merry tune.

The gunslinger silently watched his companion have a good time in the snow and shook his head: How in the world she managed to like the cold, John didn't know; he felt as if his ass was going to freeze off any second if he continued to stand there like a fool, not even his trusty polished Schofield easing his discomfort. However, he didn't want to be a bastard and leave the blonde outside alone, even though she proclaimed that she could knock a man out with a mean right hook.

And maybe with that smile of hers.

John muttered an oath.

The snow was _definitely_ getting to him—

The sudden cold came without a word.

Furrowing his brow, John froze in his contemplation as he agonizingly realized that all he felt was an ungodly grip of iciness seizing him by the bones—then, the fact that a giant snowball clobbered him upside the head came next, the registering of a light laugh second, and the dismay of losing his last cigarette amidst the attack finished off the recesses of his shock. He stood with wide eyes, his body unmoving, as another—albeit smaller—ball of snow hit his chest. By the time he grabbed a hold of himself, the source of mischief awkwardly trudged over to him and sported a teasing look.

"Didn't anyone tell you that you'll get stiff joints if you stand there all glum, like a statue?"

"_Ms. MacFarlane_ …!" The older being wiped the ice out of his eyes with a wince and sighed as he reached downwards to pick up his horsehide hat. "That was—"

"Call me _Bonnie_, you fool," she exasperatedly stated, planting her hands on her hips. "We've been through this matter already." Said being wagged her finger at the ruffled gunman. "And, _no_, it wasn't uncalled for: I saved your hide from rheumatism, John—thank me."

Unable to fight the quirk of his lips at the mock-solemnity, John breathily chuckled at the sarcastic declaration. "Why, I guess I want to say that I'm very appreciative, Miss Bonnie, for the kind act."

"You want to say that with a bit more enthusiasm?"

He arched an eyebrow. "My _gratitude_ is bona fide, Missus Bonnie MacFarlane. I would have died from the Dickens' 'miracle broth' if it weren't for you."

"You devil of a fellow."

The blonde raked her bare hand through her hair and rubbed them together, exhaling and watching her breath solidify into tiny crystal droplets, her eyes hooded in languid delight. Her cheeks tinted when she perceived John stripping off his leather gloves, so that he could pass them over to her—when his insistency mollified her protests, she slipped them on gingerly and unsuccessfully combated a darker flush that spread down to her chest, especially at the welcoming heat in the interior of them, if the actual gesture was not unique in itself. A grateful beam tugged at her lips as she faced him, and she chortled when he inelegantly cleared his throat to fight off the awkwardness.

John absentmindedly scratched his head. "You comfortable, Miss MacFarlane?"

"Y-Yes, I sure am; thank you."

"Ain't nothing big."

Stepping closer, Bonnie closed her hands over the other's and held onto them, allowing warmth to seep through—the freezing cold was unheeded at the tentative contact, and seeing as that John did not withdraw, she tightened her hold and took a step forward once more.

"You know what, John?"

"I'm listening."

Bonnie smiled.

"Merry Christmas."


End file.
